


I Hear You Calling Me, and I'm Coming

by McKay



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon "missing scene" that speculates on what really happened during those days just after Willie Loomis freed Barnabas Collins and everyone else in the cast wandered around, asking "Where's Willie?". I decided to err on the side of caution and warn for non-con even though it's in the form of a vampire's attack because Willie is an unwilling blood donor at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hear You Calling Me, and I'm Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vissy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vissy/gifts).



> I was delighted to have the opportunity to reconnect with Dark Shadows, which I've loved for a good 15 years, and as soon as I saw your details, I knew what I wanted to do. Happy Yuletide, vissy! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Regret was a new experience for Willie Loomis, and "sorry" was a new word in his vocabulary, beaten into him by Barnabas Collins' wolf's head cane. If Willie had been a stronger man, he might have come to hate Barnabas. As it was, he loved and feared Barnabas in equal measures, vacillating between the two depending on his proximity to the creature that now controlled him.

If he had known the deep, steady rhythm throbbing in his head was a heartbeat, if he had known it was Barnabas casting out a psychic net for the first hapless human to stray close enough to be snared in nearly two hundred years, he would have gotten out of there as fast as he could, gotten the five hundred bucks from Jason, and gotten the hell out of Collinsport for good measure. Then again, maybe it had been too late; maybe once he'd heard Barnabas' siren call, he would have been lured back sooner or later, unable to resist.

If he had been able to drop the lid and run like hell as soon as he opened the coffin and saw a face staring up at him, impossibly alive and alert, he would have. Instead, he'd been transfixed by the horror that was Barnabas' face: skin the color and consistency of old parchment that was stretched too thin over Barnabas' skull and bloodless lips pulled back in a rictus grin to reveal fangs yellowed with age. He could scarcely breathe, much less scream, and his mind buzzed with static, refusing to command his legs to run, and then it _was_ too late.

At the time, he'd been certain he was about to die, and there weren't even any damned jewels, after all. There was only Barnabas, who clamped his fingers around Willie's throat as he sat up in his coffin. Willie had never been interested in horror stories, and he didn't have a name for what Barnabas was until later, when he looked it up in the Collinswood library.

_Vampire._

The book had stories about vampires from all over the world: what they looked like, how they were created, how to kill them. One story said they had foul-smelling breath, and another said they could be stopped by throwing seeds on the ground. None of the stories talked about the kind of thing that happened to Willie after that first horrific feeding, but he supposed things like that _wouldn't_ be talked about in books from a respectable family's library.

He'd thought Barnabas was going to snap his neck, but instead, Barnabas stared at him until the terror that gripped him even more tightly than Barnabas' hand began to dissipate, and rising panic began to ebb. The frantic pounding of his heart slowed, and he could breathe again, and suddenly everything was okay, even when Barnabas, still looking more like a zombie than a man, released him. Willie's mind had been filled with a serene fog, and the thought of running away didn't occur to him then; he simply stood there and waited, and he even reached out to offer a steadying hand when Barnabas climbed out of his coffin.

The fog lifted the moment Barnabas looked away from him, but he had no time to react before Barnabas shoved him back and pinned him against the coffin; only then did Willie struggle at last, a futile effort against Barnabas' surprising strength. The first time hurt. Ravening hunger made Barnabas tear at Willie's flesh, not caring how much damage he did as long as blood flowed freely.

The next time, it was far different. Willie had thought he would be off the hook when Barnabas fed off that calf, but he soon learned that animal blood wasn't as satisfying or as nourishing as human blood, especially not for a vampire who was still recuperating from such a long period of dormancy and deprivation. Barnabas needed Willie, too, and when Barnabas summoned him for a second feeding, Willie stood there shivering as he awaited another brutal attack.

They were in the Old House this time, hidden away in what Willie later learned was Barnabas' former bedroom, a once-sumptuous chamber which still clung to the tattered, dust-covered remnants of its former glory just like the rest of the house. But the different surroundings didn't lessen Willie's fear in the least as Barnabas stalked toward him with a gait that was purely predatory. At least that calf hadn't known what was coming, but Willie knew exactly what was about to happen and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered over and over, not even sure whom he was apologizing to or for what, but for the first time in his life, he felt the desire to atone for all his careless, casual sins. Instead of grabbing him, however, Barnabas captured Willie's wrist and lifted it; with his free hand, he shoved Willie's shirtsleeve up and ran his nose along the length of Willie's forearm as if scenting him, and Willie shivered, not entirely with fear.

Willie liked women, but a man had needs, especially during long stretches at sea when the nearest port was hundreds of miles away or the women weren't friendly when he got there. He and Jason had even taken care of each other once or twice when times were tough. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone, man or woman, and Barnabas needed him.

He shuddered at the rasp of Barnabas' tongue against the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, and he swayed toward Barnabas rather than away. That time, Willie's cock had strained against the confines of his pants as Barnabas bit and suckled at his wrist, the act no longer painful but strangely intimate, and Willie didn't fear the feedings after that. He didn't try very hard to capture the young women Barnabas sent him to find, using any excuse to let them escape so that Barnabas would feed from him instead, enduring the punishment for failure willingly as an acceptable price to pay for feeling Barnabas' lips on his skin again.

With each feeding, Barnabas changed, his features filling out and his face growing younger. He was striking rather than handsome, but there was no mistaking the air of command that surrounded him. Willie felt it, even surrendered to it, just as he surrendered to Barnabas himself, even when he hated himself and Barnabas for it. Pride, will, strength - Barnabas had crushed them all, leaving Willie to wallow in regret, humility, and his own desperate need to please his new master.

From then on, he waited eagerly when Barnabas sent him to the bedroom, leaving his shirt unfastened at the throat just the way Barnabas wanted, and his heartbeat quickened with anticipation rather than horror when Barnabas entered the room. He shivered pleasurably at the feel of Barbabas' hot breath ghosting across his bare skin, and he leaned close when Barnabas slid one arm around his waist to draw him near. He tilted his chin obligingly, his breath growing shallow and rapid as he waited for the sharp prick of Barnabas' fangs on his throat, waited for Barnabas to bite him, to take from him, to claim him, to drink until sated, until Willie's knees buckled and the world began to fade away.

Sometimes, if Willie had been very good, Barnabas lowered Willie to the bed, unfastened Willie's pants, and wrapped his fingers, always cool no matter how much blood he drank, around Willie's hard cock, relieving the ache of need and longing Willie always felt when he was with Barnabas. For Willie, there was nothing better than Barnabas' weight pressing him against the mattress, and he spread his legs and cried out Barnabas' name when he came. Sometimes, Willie lost control of himself, forgetting his place enough to fling his arms around Barnabas and cling to him, and Barnabas held him as he shuddered through the aftermath of orgasm and his body grew calm again. Once when Barnabas was in a particularly good mood, he took Willie's cock in his mouth, fangs still extended, and the exquisite pleasure-pain of that release had haunted Willie's dreams ever since.

But now there was Maggie. Pretty little Maggie, who reminded Barnabas of his long lost Josette. Maybe Barnabas wanted Maggie, but Barnabas _needed_ him, and he wasn't going anywhere. Willie would put a stop to this somehow. He would find a way to drive Barnabas and Maggie apart, and then Barnabas would be his again. His and his alone forever.


End file.
